Xavier Kataquapit

I was getting ready one evening to head out to visit friends. Before leaving the house I turned the lights off. I paused in the kitchen to think if I had forgotten anything.
Suddenly, I realized a soft blue light had surrounded me. The sun had gone down but there was still an hour or two of a blue twilight left. This is that mysterious and magical time of the day that most of us miss.
I stood quietly in the kitchen looking out at the maple trees silhouetted in the dimming light. I could hear the birds chirping noisily getting ready for the night.

It has been very cold here in the Timmins area since the beginning of January.
I prefer the clean, fresh nature of winter but I have to admit that this -30 C weather is not much fun anymore. I am not on the land much these days and I am at the computer working a lot so I am in the house most of the time.
I guess I have gotten away from really enjoying what winter has to offer us up here in northern Ontario. When I was a teenager back home in Attawapiskat, I spent very little time in the house.

I was shocked recently while at the cottage when I discovered a tragic sight near the entrance to the garage. The overturned remains of a nest sat next to three tiny chicks on the ground. It was a nest made by 'Pepeshchel' – the Robin. It was a sad sight to see the three tiny creatures fighting for life. They had landed next to an ant hill and the insects were crawling over the vulnerable little intruders. My friend Mike and I decided to take matters into our own hands and we rounded up the surviving chicks.

I drove the half ton back to the house today. This old Ford is a beat up work horse of a truck that serves mainly as basic transport these days rather than something I would take on a long trip. Tonight I didn't have far to go and it was a pleasure to amble alone down the highway late in the evening. The falling sun bled a ruby red in the sky and the lakes and rivers on my way reflected the crimson shimmering glow.

I spent some time in the deep forest this past week. It felt great to breathe in the fresh air and to stir the coals of a fire while the weather turned cool and wet. One morning, a young eagle, or mikisew in the Cree language, glided over head and began to screech and cry as I stood amongst the tall pine. No doubt he was not happy at my incursion into his domain. He kept circling and crying overhead as I went about my work around the camp.